Wrong
by tewig
Summary: "The last time I saw you in this city, you were my eyes, my ears, my guide. Seeing you again has always been a possibility ... but never did I expect it to be here." A tale of grief and redemption.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N Something a little different. I hope you like it._

_The____ style was partly inspired by Pavarti Tyler's Echoes of Love. It's also in the same vein as The Black Manta, if any of you still remember that :)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything Twilight. Just borrowing the characters.  
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**1  
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The last time I saw you in this city, you were my eyes, my ears, my guide. You were only a few months old here but already mapped out its organs and hiding places, memorizing each artery that fanned out from the heart of Seattle across the Puget Sound. These you pointed out, our shoulders brushing as we leaned against the stark glass windows of the Tower Club.

"We're on the top of the world!" Your hands swept under my arms, lifting me by my waist in a Titanic pose, and for a few minutes I soared above Mount Rainier. Like the movie, we were out of place, two vagrants sneaking into the watering hole of Washington's elite. We gained access via the kitchen, thanks to your part-time job busing tables. My face was splotchy and my eyes swollen from weeks of watching by Charlie's bedside as he wasted away. But that morning, you made me laugh, not a forced smile, but a real throaty sound from my belly that for just a few minutes, chased the nightmares away.

After my father's death I left, taking up an internship in San Francisco at a firm that makes recycled products which turned into a paid offer and a chance to escape the bad memories of home. One year morphs into the next and before I know it I've been away for seven years.

This year our company sets a new sales target: the CEO wants to expand beyond California and Seattle is his first choice. "You're from Washington, aren't you?" He stops by my desk one morning after our weekly sales meeting. An uneasy feeling eats at my stomach, and a week later it's with a resigned sigh that I accept my assignment as head of the newly formed Northwest sales team.

Seeing you again is a possibility that's been in my mind ever since, but never did I expect it to be back here, at the Tower Club restaurant where you used to work.

"Bella." The moment I hear your voice I know it's you, giving me a few extra seconds to compose myself as you amble over. Despite your new hair style and sharp suit, it's a hundred percent you, even though I feign surprise in front of my business associates at seeing you here.

"This is Jacob Black, my high school classmate." I lie, ignoring your raised eyebrow. I don't want to invite too much unwanted curiosity-as far as my colleagues know, I'm dating a lawyer back home called Edward Cullen, who also happens to be our CEO's best friend and poker buddy.

I don't tell you any of that then, not even when you pull me outside into the drawing room for privacy. Our conversation is terse, because how can there ever be enough words to catch up on years of misgivings? And so we dance past topics that demand too difficult answers, exchanging name cards and a few pleasantries.

"Let me take you out to dinner," you insist as we make our way back into the restaurant. But we fly out that night, giving me the perfect excuse to reject your invitation.

Your brow creases, and I wonder, are you thinking about the summer of 2005? I'll never forget those months; it was my first time in Seattle and the last time you saw me. It was also my annus horriblis: the year I graduated from college and came home to a dying father on life support at Harborview Medical Center. You spent your weekends and every night after work with me at the hospital, keeping me fed and relieving me of my bedside duties. You even brought Billy down so he could say goodbye. You did so much for me, and I owe you everything. But when Charlie left us, he took away a chunk of me. I couldn't eat, sleep or talk for weeks after the funeral. When the chance to move to San Francisco popped up, I left without telling you or anyone back home.

"Let me send you to the airport," you insist as we return inside the restaurant. I turn you down, but end up in your BMW anyway that evening. You surprise me with your dogged persistence—or maybe it would have been a greater surprise were you not waiting for me in the brightly colored lounge of the W hotel when I checked out. I refuse to let you carry my bags as we enter the terminal, so you walk alongside, hands in your pockets as you try to refrain from laughing at 5 ft 3 inch me keep pace with my carry-on suitcase, lap-top bag, and handbag. I insist we say goodbye before the check-in counter, paranoid of running into our CEO.

"Call me." You pull me close and kiss the top of my head.

But I can't.

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_Reviews bring Jake and Bells back together faster!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N I'm on a spree, so you get this early!_

_Disclaimer: Nothing Twilight belongs to me! Just messin' around._

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**2**

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Barely three months later, I'm back. By some strange twist of fate we sealed the deal and Rob, our CEO, nominated me to negotiate the contract and lead the local team. I am ambivalent - it means my bonus next year will be good, but I'll be here every other week for the next six months. Should I let you know? When did we become like this, dancing in the nether grey region between friendship and something more? I don't know what to do with you, never have since you kissed me in Billy's garage when I was seventeen and asked me to be yours. I was so young then, so foolish not to realise that what stood before me was love.

In the airport limousine on the way to the W I fumble in my handbag. Your business card is still there, in the side sleeve of my Coach shoulder bag. It's worn and creased from the many times I wrestled over whether to call you. I'm proud of you; unlike me you followed your passion and made a name for yourself in this city. The card is made of quality paper with weight and thickness, the lettering elegant:

_Jacob E. Black_

_Director_

_Olympic Marine Engineers_

_Tel: 306-540-7890_

You told me you commute regularly between Seattle, where you've set up office, and La Push, where you test and produce the submarine vehicles which have made your name. As we enter the city on Interstate 5, Columbia Center, a brick brown colossus looms before us and my eyes can't help but wander to the seventy-fifth floor. Are you at the Tower Club again, entertaining clients in your tailored suit and shiny leather? I'm a little unused to picturing you so adult and corporate, but who am I kidding, you're even more handsome full-grown, there's a chiseled edge to your features and an air of confidence to your walk. Age is unfair to the fairer sex; I no longer have my waifish figure, I feel tired all the time and no amount of concealer will hide my eyebags.

I end up chucking your business card back in my bag pocket and calling Angela Weber instead. She came here for college and never went back. We have a great time catching up, but Angela's words hit a raw nerve: _it's still those friendships from school that matter most._ I can't help but think of you. I don't call that night, but dawn brings with it clarity and conviction, and finally I pluck up the courage to dial your number.

The phone rings ten, maybe twelve times, but there is no answer. It's selfish thinking but I assumed you would be on standby. It's May 2012, but I'm still clinging on to the you and me from ten years ago. I'm shaken by the thought that you've grown, the city's changed, everything's moved on but my two feet are still taking me round and round in circles.

My phone vibrates rudely during my meeting and I start. It's you. Later, I sequester myself in the corridor outside the ladies washroom, returning your call.

"Hello? Jake?" There's a huge clamor in the background. _Is that a baby wailing?_

"Hey...Bella, is that you?" The noises become muffled, like you clasped your hand over the mouthpiece. I hear footsteps, and a door closed shut.

"Hi..uh..I called to say hi." I don't know what else to say and so I just grant you the plainest of pleasantries.

"Hey, sorry but can I call you back in a sec?" The baby's plaintive cry is loud and clear now. Your voice seems urgent, and suddenly all kinds of strange questions flood my mind. _Are you married?_ I don't remember a wedding ring. But I didn't tell you about Edward either. _So whose kid is that?_

"Uh...sure...I'm in Seattle, actually." I go for broke, trying to force some answers from you.

"Oh geez, Bells." There is a long pause on the other end of the line.

Then you clarify: "I'm in La Push. Rachel just gave birth, to twins."

My mouth drops in shock but for no good reason. I'm almost thirty—supposedly at the prime of my childbearing years, but nowhere near ready to be a mom. It just seems strange that someone I grew up with is already a mother, Billy is a grandfather, and you're—an uncle?

"Oh." I'm fighting the disappointment creeping into my voice. "I guess you won't be in Seattle this week then."

"Why don't you come down to Forks?" It seems like nothing to ask of me but it is everything I have been running away from. I've not gone home since Charlie passed on and we lost our house in Forks during the crisis. I don't have any more reason to visit Forks.

"I'm flying out tomorrow morning," I answer.

"So?" Your rebuttal is swift. "It's a Friday tomorrow. Take the day off and spend the weekend here," you instruct. "Stay with me. Billy and everyone else would love to see you."

I don't think my boss would mind. But I don't want to promise you anything because I have my own life in the Bay Area now: Edward, our regular weekend crew and usual watering holes. I've more than made back the value of our old house in Forks, but it's also enslaved me to a different life. I was determined to start anew far from Washington, and in San Francisco I found a second wind. I now own a half-a-million dollar apartment in Noe Valley, a delightful yuppy community, but in return owe the bank three hundred and fifty grand. I'm so far from where I thought I would end up after college, a world apart from the adult life we dreamed and joked about as teenagers. But the truth is, I can't quit this life now.

"Besides," you then add a killer blow, "it's high time you came back to tend to Charlie's grave. I think he misses you."

I haven't been back since Thanksgiving break in 2007. I drove to Forks alone, twelve hours from San Francisco, stopping only to use the restroom. You saw the flowers a week later and were so mad I did not call. I don't understand why you still care. If you didn't, it would set me free. But I can't lie to myself - I've never met anyone else like you.

I don't give you a straight answer, but the next morning, without telling you or anyone else, I drop into Avis and rent a car for the weekend. Before I know it I'm back on 101 and heading home.

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_Review if you want to know what's waiting back home in Forks!  
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	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Nothing Twilight's mine. Just borrowing._

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_**3**_

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My first stop is the cemetery behind Forks' Methodist Church. We were never religious, but it just felt right to have Charlie laid to rest here, near his parents and old friends. There are fresh sunflowers on his grave no more than a day old. Billy comes here often, but these flowers I know are from you. I lay my lilies next to your sunflowers and sit on a tree stump near Charlie, talking to him in my heart for over an hour. My tears fall without thought. I'm spent, and return to my motel to rest.

Night falls and swollen grey clouds hang around delinquently, obscuring the moon. I take a short walk around the block to Chelsea's Diner, the town's Pike Place and foundry for local gossip. It's a place I would normally avoid like the plague but I don't have an umbrella and besides, it was also Charlie's favourite hangout to watch the game. The Mariners are playing tonight and the place is packed. I nod at a familiar face, I think that's Angela's brother. One of Charlie's former lieutenants is seated way back, with his family. Somehow, I feel closer to his spirit here, revisiting his past haunts and breathing in the small-town atmosphere. I thought I was done with the smallness of Forks, but for the first time in years this has the scent of home.

As I sip my gin and tonic at the bar I do a double-take. I only see your side-profile but it is unmistakably you. Okay, I tell myself. This is nothing unexpected when the town has only two diners. Still the scene causes me great discomfort. I see another woman with you, only her back, but there are two other young kids, one on each of your sides. The four of you seem like a happy family. Surely I can grant you that, were it true? But my heart is less magnanimous, it forces my body off the bar stool and my feet onto the floor, propelling me towards the exit.

"Ma'am, you have to pay for your drink. It's six fifty," the bartender calls out. I reach for my wallet, turn back and lay two five-dollar bills on the bar.

I am not quite halfway towards the door when I walk into Quil Ateara. He is with a tall, slender nymph of a girl who looks mixed but is exotically beautiful, just the type of girl I always imagined you would end up marrying. I know I am beating myself up over nothing but it makes me feel better for what I've done to you.

"Bella! Hey - I thought you were in Seattle," Quil gives me a bear hug before pulling me towards his girl. "Bella, this is my fiancee, Claire." It seems I need no further introduction, for Claire reaches for my arms enthusiastically. "Bella Swan! Finally, we meet!" she exclaims.

You notice us and reach my side in seconds.

"You like to surprise me," you mutter as your arm slips around my waist.

But it is I who am surprised as a little brown-eyed girl tugs at your pants moments later. "Daddy, I wanna go to the bouncing castle. Can you take me there, please?"

She brings out a side of you I've never seen before as you get down to a squat, curling your hand behind her back. "Nessie, just sit tight with Aunt Becks 'kay? I'll take you there in a second."

Her face crumples and it's the saddest thing I've ever seen. Quil comes to our rescue, and he gets down to Nessie's height too. "Ness, I'll take you. C'mon little squirt, let's go." Her face lights up immediately and she reaches out to Quil, clinging to his pants. You reach out to her little head of chestnut curls, ruffling her hair as Quil and Claire take her to the back of the diner.

"You didn't tell me you were married." I avoid your eyes, staring at the worn oak flooring.

"I'm not." You thrust your hands in your jeans pockets, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. You are so close I can hear your breath pick up, but you seem afraid to come any nearer.

"I see." I swallow, and take a step towards the exit.

"Bells." You grab my arm, trying to stop me. "It's..." You hesitate, and your grip softens. "It's complicated."

That makes no sense to me and I don't want it to. I free myself from your grasp and burst outside. It's raining in sheets, the perfect dramatic backdrop to our stormy reunion. I'm waiting for the door to swing open behind me any moment, for you to embrace me in your arms and pin me against the wall as we rediscover each other.

But all I hear is the distant crackling of thunder, and the relentless sound of rain.

Back in my room, I'm drenched and shivering from the cold. I forgot how erratic the weather gets in May. Peeling off my clothes, I stand under the shower until the hot water runs out. I'm exhausted and fall asleep with my hair wet. In the middle of the night I think I hear the doorbell ring and someone shouting my name, but the sound fades away by the time I'm conscious. Stumbling to the peephole, I look out but all I see is a light in the manager's room; the street is silent and still. I must have been dreaming.

The first thing I do in the morning is call United Airlines and change my return flight to the afternoon. I've had enough of Forks, said my peace to Charlie and it's time to get out of this nightmare. As I open the door of my motel room I fight back disappointment when I don't see you outside. My eyes scan the car park but you're not there either. I quash the irrational feelings churning inside me and quickly load my rental car.

At the check out desk the manager passes me a large sealed envelope. "Someone left this for you," he says.

I toss the envelope on the passenger's seat, glancing at the rear-view mirror every few minutes as my Ford laps up the gravel, but no one is sending me off, no one is following me out. I keep looking over my shoulder, even as I check in and board the plane. But you are not there, someone else is keeping you close to home. Like the drama queen you once called me my chest heaves with pent up pride and unspoken words. Yesterday's tears spill from my eyes as the plane pulls away from the gate. "Ma'am are you alright?" The chief stewardess asks as she passes me a box of tissues. Sniffling, I try to nod but a huge sob warbles up my throat. She leaves me alone for the rest of my flight.

The sky is clear and azure blue as the plane lands in San Francisco and my tears have dried. There's something about this city, it's eternally optimistic, and there's no room for my angst or unhappy memories. I'm a different person here, and maybe that's why I stayed so long. I resolve not to shed any more tears for you and our relationship; it is, as you once called in a moment of anger, 'a lost cause'.

Caught up in my own emotions, I forget all about the envelope, left behind in the seat pocket. I don't remember until United calls me up on Monday afternoon, asking me to verify my identity.

"Thanks for confirming your identity Miss Swan. I believe you may have left a package behind last Saturday afternoon." The male voice seems to chide my forgetfulness.

I demur for several moments whether to claim it. Finally, I assent. I'm due on a flight to LAX on Thursday, so I arrange to pick it up at the airport then.

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_A/N: Sorry, just a little more pain before we get to happy times._

_Review if you want to know what's inside the envelope!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Twilight's not mine. Just borrowing._

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**_4_**

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I'm alone in Row 6 of United First Class at 7.30am bound for Los Angeles. After all these years of business travel you may think I'm used to it but I'm not, the novelty wore out a long time ago and I'm sick of it now. The envelope is in my laptop bag stored overhead; I'm not sure if I'll have privacy to read it once we land but there's too much inertia and fear in me to reach for it now.

My nerves are on edge as I run through the day's meetings on automatic. I keep thinking about the parcel but I'm afraid to find out what's inside. I'm a coward, just like my mom, who upped and left when I was six. She used to send me postcards from all over the country, but I could never write back: there was no return address. The last time I heard from her was after Charlie's death, when the bank served me foreclosure papers. My shithead of a mom mortgaged her share in our family home and was unable to cough up when values plunged. It was the final straw that pushed me away from Forks. I've not heard from her since.

I don't want to end up like my mother, who's probably penniless and slumming it out in some trailer park in Florida. It's why I throw everything into my work, and own my first home before the age of thirty. But I find myself becoming more and more like her in other ways as I grow older, and it terrifies me. I don't have a problem with professional relationships; at work I'm charming and gregarious, hiding the real me behind the smiles. It's the personal ones I can't seem to get right.

On the evening flight back to SFO the seat next to me is empty again. My heart skips a beat as I take out the brown envelope and peel off the tape. There's a clear plastic folder with some legal documents inside, and something heavy wrapped in cloth, but it is your note, scrawled on the Forks 101 Motel stationery that draws my attention. The paper is brittle, as though it'd been wet, and theres a blotch of smudged ink at the top left corner.

_Bells,_

_I suck at words but guess I don't have a choice._

_I just want you to understand that you don't have to keep running. Please come and find me at the house._

_Love,_

_Jake_

Leaning forward, I sink my head in my hands. Past and present bleed into each other as I struggle to make sense of your words. Why do you still care, even after all I've done? No matter how much or little I could offer, you accepted it, accepting me for who I am, giving me more than I ever asked for in return. We evolved over the years from childhood partners-in-crime to a steadfast friendship that held strong, even while I was away at college. But it couldn't survive Charlie's death; not his passing away but what _happened_ between us during those few mad months. Every memory of _us_ is etched in indelible ink-stolen kisses and desperate touches in the triage room; the taste of passion laced with bittersweet tears. When he passed away I was overwhelmed with grief, guilt eating at my insides for the pleasures you gave me in his final days. I thought letting go of you might help me come to terms with my father's death. But I only ended up losing the two most important people in my life.

My shoulders quaver as I fight back tears. Something soft rolls off my lap, jingling as it hits the carpet. It's a cream coloured cloth pouch with a drawstring closure. I loosen the mouth and a set of keys falls onto my lap.

Confused, I go through the contents of the envelope again. There's a legal letter on top, requesting my signature on the attached documents to indicate my acceptance. At the bottom I draw out a thick, stamped certificate which reads:

_Title Deed_

_This deed entitles __Miss Isabella Marie Swan__ to the full and unequivocal rights to the property and land situated on __Parcel 631-5A, Forks WA 54092__._

The address looks familiar. I leaf through the papers and find a map of Forks, marking the land parcel which supposedly belongs to me. The pre-landing announcements start in the background and the stewardess is at my side, asking me to fasten my seatbelt, but I can't move or think, my eyes frozen on the title deed. As the plane descends, the keys in my hand grow heavy and the enormity of what you've done hits me.

These are the keys to my old house.

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_A/N Short update, I know. The next chapter's a whopper. _

_Thanks as always for reading and to **Leelator**, **Micah's Moonbeam**, **Mharrison**, **Anon** & **Cecilia Waters** for your lovely reviews._

_Please review! Otherwise it feels like no one is reading and I might just be tempted to pull this story off ..._


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: Nothing Twilight belongs to me._

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_**5**_

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"Do you really have to go?" Edward knows the answer but insists on asking again, just so I can hear the disappointment in his voice. He jokingly threatens to take it up with Rob, my boss and his childhood friend. I use my mortgage as an excuse, a little more edge to my voice than intended. I know I'm being unfair; Edward may come from money, but he's never flaunted it.

"Move in with me and rent out this place." He shrugs off his jacket and loosens his tie, settling on the edge of my bed. "I've barely seen you these past two weeks." I lean against the door frame, watching as he unbuttons his top two shirt buttons. He's in a touchy-feely mood tonight, but I'm cold as a jellyfish. I've been a horrible girlfriend, I can't even remember when we last slept together.

"Sorry." I shut my eyes and hang my head. "I ... not tonight. I'm sorry." He gets up and paces around the room, shooting me questions I can't answer, getting increasingly frustrated with my reticence. "I don't know what's wrong, Bella." He throws up his hands in exasperation and exhales. "Call me when you want to tell me." He picks up his jacket and tie and stops in the doorway, leaning in for a goodbye kiss. "I love you." There's pain in his eyes when I don't say it back to him. But it's not like he doesn't know how I feel about those three words—what do they even mean?

Over the past two days I've thought about a lot of things. But the most important thing I've realised is this: I'll never stop running if I don't make peace with you. So I'm flying out a day early tomorrow with a mission. I'm going to apologise, and I hope you'll find it in you to forgive me. And maybe, after that, we'll talk about the house.

But my courage abandons me as I sit in the airport lounge, staring at your number which I've punched in my phone. My coffee's cold and the Last Call sign for my flight flashes, but I'm still typing and re-typing my message to you. In the end I keep it simple: _Got your note. Landing in SEA at 1530._

It's raining again when we touch down, but you still haven't replied. My spirits deflate as I collect my suitcase at the carousel and trudge towards the exit. It's a lonely walk from here to the taxi stand, especially when the doors slide open, revealing a sea of expectant faces, none of whom are waiting for me. The ride to the W is dreary and grey, and I wonder what the next six months will be like, visiting this city every fortnight knowing you are here. In a moment of recklessness, I toy with driving up to La Push if you don't call me by dinner time.

Lost in my thoughts, I barely notice the vermilion sports coupe that eases behind us as we pull into the hotel's driveway. The bellboy ignores me while I struggle with my luggage, heading straight for the driver in the fancy car.

"Let me get that." I whirl around in shock because that voice is all too familiar and shouldn't be here.

"Jake." I'm a little unsteady on my feet, your hand on my elbow the only thing holding me to the ground. You're in a full suit, made of a refined wool that highlights your broad chest and confident bearing. I catch a whiff of your masculine cologne and minty aftershave. It's a Sunday, but it seems you just came from a power lunch or some high society event.

"You're not the only one who can pull surprises." A wry smile tugs at the edge of your lips. You pick up my suitcase, pressing the small of my back in the direction of the entrance. The bellboy steps aside as you dismiss him with a shake of your head. I must be blind, I've never noticed the presence you command. It's like you have an aura; with you at my side, even the receptionist gives me special attention.

"I'm so sorry, Mr and Mrs Swan." She addresses us jointly but her eyes are on you. "There's a conference today and we only have doubles left." You place your arm on the counter and lean in towards her, arching an eyebrow. But before you can say a word, she continues, "However, I've managed to give you both a complimentary upgrade to our Wow suite, thanks to Mrs Swan's Platinum status." Her eyelashes flutter as she hands you the card keys. There's a smirk on your face as we enter the lift. Have you always had this effect on others?

The air falls silent as we step into the plush, carpeted hallway, amplifying every sound between us. Your breathing is deep and steady as you hand me the room card and a click welcomes us into my lodgings for the rest of the week.

"You're incredible," I can't help remarking after we enter the room. It's cavernous, with an electric blue three-seater in the lounge flanked by two retro armchairs, a separate bathroom, and even a powder room near the entrance. "All my stays at the W and this is the first time they've given me a suite."

"Nah, it's just my natural charm. You know, that thing that seems to work on every woman but you." My cheeks flush at your comment, I'm relieved my back is turned to you. You set my suitcase on the luggage rack, and we turn at the same time. We're so close in the narrow entree way that I can tell the spots on your tie are actually gazelles and you nicked your jaw while shaving this morning.

"Aren't you going to invite me inside?" There's a hint of temptation in your voice, but with all the space in this massive living room I reckon it should be safe. I nod, and you slip past me, making yourself at home on the sofa. Letting out a loud yawn, you remove your shoes and stretch like a cat on the orange polka-dotted ottoman. "What are your plans today?" Your body expresses ease and comfort, but the glance you throw in my direction is hesitant.

"Um. I didn't really schedule anything." Your eyes follow me as I hang up my work suits, and it makes me a little nervous. I stop unpacking, leaning against the closet door and watching you observe me. It's been a long time since we've had a normal conversation, and every glance in this enclosed space feels both intimate and awkward at the same time. It surprises me how I still understand all your little gestures and hand movements, and it's odd knowing that you probably read my body language just as well.

"I'm touched. You actually saved the whole day for me?" I blush for the second time in less than maybe five minutes, avoiding your eyes.

"Well, let's get going then." Your eyes return to the large, avant garde painting of Pacific salmon in the centre of the room behind the television. The way they're depicted, it's either artistic genius or phallic, depending on how you look at it. "I don't know how long you're staying, but I need to get back to La Push tonight. We have a delivery this week."

Great, I think. That leaves me with maybe two more hours to achieve my mission. You turn on the television, loosening your tie and removing it as you flip through channels, finally settling on the Mariners' game. You don't tell me where we're going, but ask me to change into something comfortable, so I pick out a pair of sweatpants and a fleece top and head for the shower. Ten minutes later I'm cursing in the bathroom: the front clasp of my bra is loose and won't close properly. I'm torn between dashing out in my robe to pick out a new one, which strikes me as flirting with danger, and going out bra-less, since my shirt and fleece should hide any impropriety. Since you're leaving tonight anyway, I decide on the latter. I pin my hair in a loose updo and step outside, only to find you dozing off on the couch, your jacket and tie in a crumpled heap. You look several years younger, your face serene and peaceful. A strange calm washes over me as I relax into one of the armchairs, watching you sleep while the commentator in the background drones on about Ichiro. For a fleeting moment, it feels like we're teenagers again.

"Are you peeping at me?" One of your eyelids flits open and I start.

"I can feel you in my sleep, Bella." You let out another yawn and roll upright. How do you juggle business in one city and family back home? It seems tiring. "Ready?" You eye me as you get to your feet. I ask where we're going, but you just smile and usher me out of the door.

We're cruising north on Highway 99, the setting sun spinning a vivid canvas of orange and purple against the retreating snowline of the Olympic mountains. I've forgotten how beautiful this city is, and it makes me sigh. After about twenty minutes you turn off the highway and we enter an unpopulated, wooded area that looks like a park. As you shift gears I realise we're moving downslope, towards the water. I can smell the ocean before we even see it, and as we round the bend the shoreline emerges, a few squat buildings at the water's edge. You ease to a stop outside a one-storey brick structure.

"Your office?" I ask as you unlock the doors and we step outside.

"Nah. That's downtown. This is my workshop. We test stuff here sometimes, the water's calmer than First Beach." You guide me up a flight of stairs at the side of the building, and we emerge onto the roof deck with the Sound at our feet. "I come up here often on the weekend, it's nice and quiet." We settle into cushioned deck chairs, and for the next few minutes say nothing, listening to each other breathing as the sinking sun irradiates the sky. I can see why you like it here—the panorama is stunning, and with the wind whistling in the woods behind us, it almost feels like home.

Maybe, just maybe, forgiveness comes more easily here. But I'm afraid to disrupt the poignant silence that has settled in the space between our chairs.

"She killed herself on a night like this." Your solemn voice cuts through the dusk.

"What?"

"Nessie's mom." You pause and glance at my reaction. "Sue Clearwater started a shelter a few years back, for abused women. I volunteer there when I can, mostly helping out with the kids.

"Her name's Christina. She was in a dark place when we first met five years back. Two hurt and angry souls. Guess that's why we connected, morbid as that sounds." I wonder if I'm supposed to read between the lines and infer something about your relationship. There's a faraway look in your eyes as you gaze at the horizon which has turned grey, the sun in its last burst of brilliance.

"One evening, she went for a walk on First Beach and never came back. She drowned herself."

A gasp escapes me. Your voice is dry of emotion. If I didn't know you better it would be hard to tell you cared. "Chris didn't have any next-of-kin, and we couldn't trace Nessie's dad. Heard he was a drunk bastard anyway. So Billy and I took her in, and I adopted her formally last year."

The sky's darkened rapidly in minutes, and a gust of cold air forces an involuntary shiver. My breath catches as you lean in all of a sudden and reach towards my chest. Your fingers grasp the zipper of my fleece, pulling it up to my chin, lingering for a moment before you retreat to your chair. I can almost hear my heart thudding; thankfully the darkness conceals my flushed face.

"I guess you're wondering if we were together. We dated a little, but I think I was more like her crutch. Never enough though. I took it hard when she killed herself. I mean, why do the people around me keep dying?" There's an almost undetectable tremble in your voice, and the cruel truth of your words hits me hard. You're right: tragedy's affected your life as much as it's impacted mine. And yet, you've moved on, unlike me. In fact, it seems you couldn't be doing better.

"I was lost for a while after that, but Nessie was my saviour." A streetlight flickers in the distance, your eyes shining as you speak of this little girl. "She's just so full of life, she makes me want to be a better person." You turn towards me, leaning on the arm of your seat. "And it's because of her I realised something."

With fiery eyes you reach out for my hand, clasping it in yours. "The dead never really go away, Bells. My mom, Harry, Charlie, and Chris. They're right here." You pull my hand towards your chest, the steady thump-thump of your heartbeat vibrating against my palm. "And here." Lifting my hand, you rest it against my chest, your fingers still interlaced with mine.

"They live on, inside us. And more than anything else, they want you to be happy." I close my eyes, the sound of our heartbeats and the mellow baritone of your voice swirling around me like sweet cotton candy. I don't want this moment to end.

My stomach chooses that very moment to let out an inappropriate growl. I realise I haven't eaten all day besides the crummy sandwich and chips they served on the plane.

"Sorry." You let go of my hand and your face breaks out in a sheepish grin. "I completely forgot about dinner."

We head inside, my hand slipping almost naturally in yours as you guide me down the steps in the dark. The front room is your workshop, the floor strewn with plywood, fiberglass and all manner of tools. There's a little alcove to the left with a sofa bed that looks well-used, the floor littered with beer cans. You point out the restroom to our right before pushing past a door in the back. It leads to the kitchenette which barely fits a basic stove, microwave and fridge. Apologizing for the lack of food options, you offer me pasta or frozen pizza. It's getting late and you still have a long drive back, so I choose the latter. There's no dining table, so we head back out to the workshop, balancing our dinner on paper plates. Tossing the pillows on the backrest, you fold the mattress and we settle into the couch. I can't help but think back to Billy's garage in La Push. Even though this place smells of grease and sawdust, and the pizza's a little soggy, it's the best meal I've had in a long time.

I still haven't accomplished my mission and resolve to make progress after we clean up, leading you back to the sofa, which is about the only place to sit or lie down. You lean back on one armrest, appraising me as I shift on the soft springs, trying to get comfortable. I clear my throat and summon all the courage in my bones.

But the first thing that slips out of my mouth is this: "Why did you buy the house?" It comes out almost like an accusation, and I regret my words instantly.

"Why's that so hard to believe?" Your lips curl up on one side. "I spent just as much time there as you did."

"But you put my name on it."

"That's because I want you to have it. You didn't deserve to lose your home like that."

"But Jake," I protest. "How could you spend all that money on me?"

"I dunno. What else am I supposed to do with it?" Your flippancy with your finances startles me. I know your business is doing well, but I didn't realise how well. "I have more than I'll ever need. Besides, I realised long ago money's not going to buy me what I most want." What do you want most? I'm not sure I can handle the answer.

So I keep my tone light. "Well for one, you could plough the cash back in your company. Or buy another fancy car."

"You mean another Ferrari?" You shift closer and raise an eyebrow. "I already have one. Besides, I'm a one man one woman type of guy." There's a slight hint of something in your last statement, and it sets me on edge.

"But …" The words spill out of me. "Jake, I don't deserve this. I've been awful to you, I've ignored you for years and you have every reason to hate me. I know I've been a horrible friend and I'm so sorry …"

"For what?" Your voice is tender and somehow it calms my nerves.

"Because I keep abusing you, treating you horribly, and you've been nothing but … "

You silence me with a kiss. It's brief, but the familiarity of your lips sends my head spinning. I open my mouth to speak but you hush me, slipping your arms around my waist as you lean in and nestle your head in the crook of my neck. Almost by instinct, my fingers find their way into your hair, massaging your scalp as we hold each other. Neither of us speak, and I'm starting to realise that maybe we don't always need words; I still understand your silences, and I hope mine make sense to you too.

"We should get going," I mumble, not really sure how many minutes have passed. "You have a long drive ahead." You grunt in response, but pull me tighter against you.

"Stay with me tonight." I can't help it but my mind starts wandering into forbidden territory. You're still in your trousers and work shirt, and even though the sleeves are rolled-up it can't be too comfortable. I pray you brought a change of clothes.

"What about your work." I try to rein in my thoughts.

"Fuck work."

"You mean here?"

"I have some clean sheets in the back." You look up at me with hopeful eyes. When I raise a quizzical brow, you climb out of the sofa and walk over to the window opposite, pushing it open by a hair's breath. A draft wafts into the room, tinged with the smell of the ocean. "I'll keep you warm."

I wonder what it would be like to watch the sunrise in your arms.

You beam when I nod. Somehow, I like your idea very much, even though your creaky sofa has nothing on the plush four poster bed at the W. You disappear into the washroom while I make our bed, tucking in the sheets and arranging the pillows. I'm trying to get comfortable when the light turns off and we're coated in darkness. My heartbeat speeds up as your feet shuffle closer. Lifting the quilt, your warmth cocoons me from behind, one arm curling around my waist. I wait for a hint of awkwardness or discomfort, but it's shocking how completely natural this feels.

And that's when it hits me that you're almost stark naked.

"Jake!" I'm astonished, excited, and embarrassed.

"Don't think you want me to sleep in my greasy overalls." You whisper in my ear. "I'd get dust and muck all over you." Your voice is low and seductive and it stirs something foreign and long buried. "So, about your apology just now. I wanted to ask … " Resting your weight on your elbow, you turn me gently so that we're face-to-face. You could ask anything of me now and I would give it to you.

"If I forgive you. What do I get?"

My eyes have adjusted to the dark somewhat, but I don't need light to feel the want in your voice. My mind battles over whether this is right or wrong, but my body moves entirely on its own. As if under a spell, my index finger rises to your shoulder, resting on your sternum for a second and eliciting a throaty growl as it travels southward. Reaching your abs, the rest of my fingers uncurl and trace the muscles I'm surprised to find still there.

"Bells." Your voice turns hoarse and you grab my hand, shoving it to the side. Your hand fists into my hair as you guide yourself onto my lips, legs interlocking as we kiss away years of desperation and longing. Your other hand rests on the waistband of my pants, but within minutes slips under my shirt, inching up my back. My forgotten bra comes to mind, but your fingers are faster and within seconds they've mounted my breast and you're groaning.

"Jake," I gasp as your lips move downward. If we don't stop … I can't really think about what will happen, in fact, I realise I can't really think at all with your ministrations on my neck and your fingers stirring all these deep, subconscious feelings. I give it one last shot. "Jake."

Your hand freezes, darting out from my shirt, a guilty look spreading on your face. "Sorry." Pulling away, you draw in a ragged breath and lie on your side. "I … I got ahead of myself."

We're both breathing heavily, and my emotions and impulses are running amok. I miss your warmth already but I'm not sure where this is leading us. For the first time tonight, Edward's pained grimace flashes across my mind. What am I doing? Is it wrong to want you like this?

"I ... I need to get some fresh air." You hug your knees and roll to a sitting position, the muscles in your back flexing as you get out of bed. Moonlight floods the room as the door opens and you slip outside. When you don't come back after a few minutes, I clamber to my feet, putting on my fleece jacket and stepping onto the veranda. Not finding you there, I edge up the stairs onto the roof. You're in the same chair, your back to me as I approach.

"Hey." I slip an arm around your shoulder and hug you from behind. Your hand reaches for me as I round your chair, guiding me to your lap. We don't speak as you wrap your arms around my waist and fold my legs over yours.

"Why'd you get out of bed?" you mumble into my ear, your stubble brushing against my jaw. "It's cold out here." But it's warmer like this, tucked in your embrace.

I'm gazing at the water and the way the moonlight ripples off the surface, my fingers mirroring its concentric patterns on your arm, when you speak again. "You're all I ever wanted, you know?" It comes out more like a statement than a question.

I want to tell you how much I've missed you over the years, and how I've thought of you constantly, but I realise it's not necessary. I've beaten myself up over nothing all this while. Your love is as true and unwavering as it was when we were seventeen, and the only person stopping me from accepting it has been myself. I don't know how to put all this in words, so instead I turn my head to the side and place a kiss on your forehead.

"I love you." Your words come without hesitation and it makes my heart swell.

And for the first time, I say it back.

**_-~The End~-_**

* * *

_A/N Yes, that's the end of the story. Thank you for reading. I put my heart into writing this; if you like it please review!_

_I borrowed the line about Jacob's 'natural charm' from a beautiful Hunger Games fanfic called** a** **perfect sonnet** by** xoVanilla-Bean**. If you're a Gale fan like me, it's a must-read!_

_Thanks to **Leelator** and **Micah's Moonbeam** for your thoughts and comments on earlier drafts of this story._

_Anyone want an epilogue? A ... lemon ... maybe? Tell me, or it'll never happen!_


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